5 on 1 - Chapter twelve: Sweeter dreams (Patreon)

With Mike’s existing muscles and Yuki’s new ones, getting Afi down to the car wasn’t as hard as it could’ve been. The building’s residents kept odd hours, and they saw no-one as they bundled the bloated woman into the Commodore that was now older than every one of his slaves.

“Look, just get her stomach pumped. Once it’s done, bring her right back. If they ask how it happened, you can tell them whatever. They’re not gonna believe the truth any more than a lie.”

As he talked, he did up the buttons on one of his flannels to give Afi as much modesty as the garment could afford her. None of his pants had fit her, so they’d thrown a towel over her crotch. Yuki was squeezed into the widest sweatpants he owned. He could hear the seams losing to her hips from the backseat. The Hello Kitty shirt was unchanged.

A quick description of the car’s many quirks, as well as punching in the closest emergency room, and Yuki was spluttering her way out of the garage. Mike watched them go, taking a second to appreciate how insane his life was getting. Had gotten? Was forever going to be? He sighed, stowing his hands in his pockets and making his way back inside.

He found his apartment largely unchanged. Lilly and Carmen were back in front of the TV. Mia was still on the floor. He stooped down to look at her. She did not twist to meet him.

“Do you wanna make dinner?”

This got her moving, turning through the tears to face him.

“Are you asking or telling me?”

“Make dinner.”

It wasn’t a smile, and it wasn’t a stop to the tears. It was a bit of steel in the eyes, a solidity that the past half hour hadn’t seen. She nodded, clambering to her feet. He reached a hand out to help her, but she leaned away. Used the cabinets and bench. Mike retreated, getting out of the kitchen to give her space and plonking himself on the couch.

It was a reality show. A ripoff mix between Love Island and the Bachelorette where a swathe of attractive, bland men compete for the affection of a single woman, who Mike rapidly learned was named Michelle. Transfixing, if only for the irony. They were following a man named Tony, who was bringing the ‘I have been hot my whole life and did not need to develop a personality’ energy in spadefuls. Michelle seemed... unenthused.

As they watched, Lilly had cuddled up to one side of Mike. Her dirty gold curls covered his shoulder like a fancy pauldron. Carmen had leaned away at first, trying to focus on the TV even as he made the small couch that much more cramped. Between their hips and his shoulders, there was very little chance to get away without getting off the couch. Eventually she made her choice, manoeuvring his arm so she could cuddle into it. The fact that left his hand buried between her thighs was simply a happy accident.

If not for the roller-coaster they’d all been on, Mia would’ve been quite a distracting sight. Her freckled body was jiggling with every step and stretch to check through the cupboards. Though in the moments where her face was visible, her tear stained cheeks and wrenched lips did mute the arousing nature of her lower body. Still, the three of them found their eyes sliding off Tony onto her enough to lose track of which romantic faux-pas’ he’d committed.

“You don’t do much cooking, sir,” Mia said, piling a few frozen meals onto a counter.

It wasn’t a question, and it took Mike a few seconds to decide if he should answer it anyway. She did not look at him, opening up the microwave and dumping them each in. For the next few minutes, they were treated to whirring interrupted by shrill beeps, which is the perfect way to watch a show. Eventually it was done, and Mia swanned over, three plates holding steaming combinations of the meals Mike had on hand. A dollop of stir fry, a chunk of butter chicken, and a cut of some lasagna.

They took and thanked, with Carmen tucking in immediately, earning herself a burnt tongue and another bout of frustrated noises. Mike rested it on his legs and looked back up.

“Only three?”

Definitely a question. Mia shuffled back into the kitchen without looking at him.

“Mia,” he said, muting the TV, “come here.”

All eyes were on her now. She was made aware, in that moment, of just how naked she was. The gentle air of the AC was nothing compared to the feeling of those stares. Like six tiny, high speed fans, the wind rushing through the apartment and slamming into her skin. Every half step made it stronger, turned a whistle to a howl as the currents of air buffeted her body.

She stood in front of him. That felt wrong, so she bowed. That didn’t feel like enough, so she kneeled.

“You need to eat.”

“Are you suggesting or telling?”

“Mia…”

“Sir.”

“…”

He stared at her for a while. Her hair had dried by now. It looked better than when she’d first arrived. The orange popped, all the more when it was splayed out on the grimy carpet. A sheen had taken it, giving the long hair a shimmering quality, like spring water in the early, early morning. He focused on that, because it had hidden her face.

“Go into the bedroom. Lay down, get some sleep. We’ll join you shortly,” Mike said, shuffling about in his seat, “that is a command.”

She did as she was told, leaving the three of them to the show.

“Not gonna talk to her?” Carmen said, once she’d left the room.

“You didn’t notice?” Mike said, sighing, “she’s not looking to talk. At least, not right now. She wants direction. She wants to process a lot of this while in motion, but… well, you saw. I don’t like it much, but I know what she was asking me to do.”

The TV unmuted, the cuddling continued, the food was consumed, but they didn’t look at each other. Didn’t say anything. When it ended, they sat for a while. The warmth of the bodies was like tea, and the ache of the day’s exhaustion was making itself known. Lilly was fighting to keep her eyes open, her head thinking about buying his shoulder instead of just renting.

Carmen was the first to rise. She strode over to the bathroom, taking out his toothpaste and squirting it onto her finger. A quick and dirty solution. She wasn’t opposed to using his toothbrush too, but she figured he might have some objections. Objections neither of them had the energy to discuss. A few spits, running water, and she was back. She gave him a look, then jerked her head at the sleeping blonde. Mike nodded.

Getting her up in a princess carry, Carmen took Lilly into the bedroom. Mike followed Carmen’s example, rather than her footsteps, and went to the bathroom.

The walls, the floor, everything was still soaked. The towels looked like they’d been pulled from a hurricane. He felt something squelch beneath him. He did his business, using the actual toothbrush. The thought crossed his mind that he would need to go and buy the girls actual toothbrushes. The next thought was that he should get them clothes first. He had a tape measure, he could figure out their new dimensions and take that with him. It didn’t need to be fancy, just some loose stuff that’d get them out of the house so they could help him. But what if they changed again? Such a headache, he’d be spending who knows how much to get them a new wardrobe.

Not that he didn’t have the cash, he thought idly with a mouth full of toothpaste. That 400k was burning a hole in his pocket now. Maybe he should invest it, it was a lot of money. Sure, frugal saving had done him good so far with his barely-a-job job, but he had five people to support.

The toothbrush was out of his mouth and his hands were on the sides of the sink. A moment to think, a moment of silence where nobody else was around. What the fuck was he gonna do? Would he get them working? Who the hell would hire them? No credentials, no resumes, from a different part of the world.

Oh shit. Oh fuck, they didn’t even have passports. Drivers licenses, birth certificates, none of the stuff they’d need to even prove they were meant to be here. They were all from other countries for crying out loud. One person profiling Afi or Carmen could lead them all being deported. And him? What, reported for sex trafficking? They were all under his roof, there was no way they wouldn’t be able to trace it back to him.

In his rush to give himself a heart attack, he accidentally swallowed a bit of foam toothpaste. The coughing fit lasted only a few seconds, but when he looked back at the mirror he was red faced beneath the beard. He spat, before trying to breathe.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Tomorrow.

This could all be sorted out tomorrow.

He spat again, washing his hands and the brush. On the one hand, it surprised him how much he’d come to care about these people. His time with them was best measured in hours, minutes even. On the other, it barely shook him. His mother often told a story about a pair of googly eyes that had been dropped on a bit of pavement. He’d walked past that slab every day on the way to preschool, and his mother had never even realised. At least, she didn’t until some workmen had to come along to check the pipes beneath. They’d drilled through that googly eyed pavement, right as a young Mike had walked by. Inconsolable, was the word his mother used.

They were a lot more real than some plastic. Soft, warm, eccentric, intense, beautiful… passionate. He was not a believer in fate, but these girls meant something. To him, for him. He dried his face, sinking into that hand towel and feeling the need to shut his eyes swarm his every muscle. He came back up for air, and spotted himself. Pores, hair, eyes, nose, cuts, bumps, spots, bits. All a little out of place, all a little imperfect. Too human, for a gift so magical. He sighed, sinking back into the towel before hanging it back up.

“I don’t deserve this…” he muttered, flicking the light.

The apartment was dark. He felt bad making noise now, as if the lack of sight turned off the sound too. He crept the path he’d taken a thousand times, cracking the door and letting himself in.

The curtain was open. The window showed the park behind his apartment. Dark grass, fluttering in the night wind, lit by haphazard street lamps from the surrounding road. The faint rumble of traffic, trying to work its fingers through the building’s insulation. The moonlight, dim and waxing, gave the clouds the thinnest of linings.

It was enough, though, to see shapes. Three bodies, slumped on his queen bed. No hair colour, nor skin colour. Their hips were mountains, their chests like hills. Interchangeable in the dark, interchangeable in the silence. He tried to find an angle amongst them, some edge of the bed he could fold up onto, but none was forthcoming. It was as if…

As if they’d left the middle, all for him.

So he crawled over them, their half sleeping bodies offering mumbles, murmurs, and reaching hands. They steadied against his belly, draped along his shoulders, pushed back his thighs. Pulling him in, laying him flat. He didn’t fight them, just kept moving the way he’d planned. When the bed finally came to meet his face, he thought for a moment there was a fourth woman, who had been so eager she’d given her body for him to sleep on. They were all so soft. Luxurious, like silk and fine spreads.

When he was down, they came up. Hugging up to his sides, rolling onto his legs, pushing him into the mattress and radiating their heat.

Morning me, have I got a gift for you, he thought, his eyes finally giving up their long battle.

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